Who Told You That?
by DDs Tea Cup
Summary: It hurts. And he fights it.


**_Who Told You That?_**

**_Not Mine. Moffat's._**

**Spoilers through entirety of River's story arc, especially SITL and FOTD, Sweetie.**

_Fixed points can be rewritten._

_No they can't, of course they can't. Who told you that?_

_- The Wedding Of River Song_

It hurts. And he fights it.

He cried the night she told him of her plans to go back to her studies. To get her PhD. To become Professor Song. Up until that point he had breathed a sigh of relief when she introduced herself to others or signed her name as Doctor Song. That mean she was still a step away. She couldn't die yet. She died as a Professor, so he was grateful for every day she wasn't one. But when the day came he could felt like one of his hearts had inverted and become sand timer- a ticking clock counting down the days. And he hated it.

He destroyed the control room the first time she asked him to take her to Darillium. The Singing Towers, she had implored. Surely he wanted to see them with her too? He had talked his way out of it that day, convinced her of his other plans, plans that were better and more fun. Plans that didn't take them to that place. She went along, allowing herself to be whisked away in his maniacal ways and they danced the night away and he dropped her off and took his pain out on his TARDIS. The torture of it all clawed at him each time she asked and he stalled. Not the right time of year, more important things, the TARDIS went wrong, there was always somewhere better, always something else. Something that didn't take them there. And she complied - but each time he saw her determination grow and he knew he couldn't stall her forever. She wouldn't allow it.

The day the he saw the spine of her diary split he tried to repair it. With the sonic no less, to her raucous laughter, before she snatched it away convinced it was a trick of his to get a glimpse of her secrets. He sighed and laughed along with her- his eyes never leaving the battered book, that was all too full and all too old and all too familiar.

The day the TARDIS remodeled his screwdriver he smashed her scanner screen and cursed her very existence. He'd put it in for a software update and it came out looking battered and all too much like the one that was just out of reach on the floor of the basement of the library as he watched her die. The ring on the side and the red light at the base. It trembled in his hand and he refused to look at it for a week afterwards until River found it stuffed behind a jar of apricots in the pantry and demanded he now fix the glitch in her scanner she'd been complaining about. On that final fateful night when he handed it to her, she took with big questioning eyes until he said he was sick of her kissing other men just to get through doors. The sonic's good at doors.

Each time he wrote an entry about an event she had foreshadowed, his hearts clenched and his dread grew. The Bone Meadows. The Pandorica. Asgard. Crash of the Byzantium. Everyone, everything, everywhere she'd referenced, accidentally spoiled or just teased him with, until he knew one day he would have experienced them all. Except Darillium. So those pages were the most detailed. Lines and lines of writing and pictures and descriptions and borders and maps and diagrams, describing each event with such ridiculous care that is was clear his detail only served the purpose of making him feel that it wasn't over, that he could make Jim The Fish and his dam linger on and on and on so it wouldn't be completely experienced yet. So there would be more to come.

So when she discovered his great secret, a completely random discovery as she researched the headless monks traditions, that Time Lords could indeed speak their names, he fought her. Tooth and nail. He made up reasons why he couldn't. He claimed he forgot it. He made up names. He invented laws. He distracted her with kisses and stalled with devotions of love. He deflected and joked and clung on desperately to the last shred of control he had. He railed against her and yelled and fought, saying things he didn't mean to stop her asking. She couldn't go if she didn't know. So never let her know. That was the plan.

But she was always River Song, and she always, always got her way. And late one night as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear and let all her names roll off his tongue, she demanded it. She made him tell her. Not with anger this time, but with desperate grief. A longing to know him that last little bit, to claim ownership over him fully. And he realised he wanted her to have that. To be River Song: The Woman Who Knew The Doctor's Name. So he told her. Released the last piece of himself to her with the last thread of hope he had left. He leant forward, breath caressing her ear as whispered the sounds that made up his name. And then he knew, he knew that the smile it brought to her face and the light it brought to her eyes when he pulled back and looked at her fully again it was worth it. The hurt and pain that would follow would be worth it. To have this woman, this psychotic, beautiful mixed up Time Lord of a woman be able to lean into him and repeat those sounds back to him with such tenderness it made him weak. And he knew, he'd be able to take her to the towers when that dreadful time came, because that would be the place they knew each other the most, and that was not a moment he wanted to miss.


End file.
